But Nina knew what he was. Hell, she’d killed a vampire right in front of his eyes. And while she had struggled against him at first to let him take care of her, she had surrendered to his touch. He hadn’t used mind control on her. It was her decision to respond to him. Okay, so maybe he’d used all his persuasive powers as a man to help that decision along, but he hadn’t used any vampire skills.
His centuries of experience with women had taught him what women liked, and he was never shy about using what he’d learned. When it came to sex, he was prepared for just about anything a woman could throw at him. And always game for more.
But something had suddenly changed Nina’s mood, even though her body had hummed like a well-tuned piano. He would have liked to compose a symphony on it, had she given him a chance.
A soft ping announced that the oven was preheated to the correct temperature, and he placed the gratin dish onto the middle tray. A quick stir of the pot on the stove assured nothing was burning. Nothing, other than his desire for Nina.
He would find her. Now that he’d tasted her blood, he had an infinitely better chance of tracking her down. He was like a bloodhound, his sense of smell so well developed she wouldn’t be able to evade him if he only got within a quarter mile of her.
Amaury’s lips curled into a smile. And once he found her, they would finish what they’d started. The only little problem he now faced were his colleagues. If any one of them found out he was seeing a human woman and had not wiped her memory clean, he would be in the doghouse. Their warning still rang in his ears: exposure has to be avoided at all cost.
Well, it wasn’t his fault. Nina had already known about him being a vampire before they had even met. Who knew how much of her memory he had to erase, how far back he had to go? It was impossible to know. No, the best way was to find her, talk to her, find out what she knew and then decide.
He could definitely justify his approach. And if in the process of it he got a little horizontal action, surely nobody could fault him for that. Any hot-blooded male would do the same. After all, she was a desirable woman with gorgeous breasts and a sassy mouth. Who wouldn’t want a piece of her?
He sure wouldn’t mind spending a whole night with her, setting the sheets on fire. Now that was something he hadn’t done in a long time. Sure, he had sex every night—just not in bed. That location was reserved for somebody special—and he got the feeling she’d warrant an invitation to his bed. And the next time he’d make sure the door was locked, and she wouldn’t get away so quickly.
By the time the food was ready, Amaury had set out his plan of how to find her. Assuming she lived in the city, he would patrol in a grid pattern, starting with all downtown neighborhoods before moving further out into the suburbs. It would take him a few nights at the most.
Amaury spooned the food into serving dishes and placed them onto a tray before he left his apartment, then made his way down one flight of stairs. Mrs. Reid’s apartment looked dark, but he knew she was normally up late, so he rang the doorbell and waited.
A minute passed, and nothing happened. He rang the doorbell again and listened for any sound from inside her apartment. Behind him, he heard another door open.
“She’s not in,” a male voice said.
“Oh, out that late?” Amaury asked, turning to Philipp, one of the reclusive tenants in the building.
“Didn’t you hear? She’s in the hospital.”
Amaury felt a stab in his chest. He’d fed from her the night before, and now she was in the hospital. What had he done?
“The hospital?” A chill crept up his spine.
“Yeah, she’s in bad shape.” Philipp craned his neck to look at the tray in Amaury’s hands. “That smells good. Is that French food?”
“Yeah, sure. Take it.”
Amaury pressed the tray into Philipp’s hands and turned away before the man could even thank him. He rushed up the stairs and back into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.
The poor woman. The sweet old lady. He’d taken too much from her, and now she was paying the price. What if she didn’t recover? What if she died?
His strength left him, and he fell to his knees, guilt blasting through him. He’d lost control. He’d taken too much. It was true, he was a monster. And it was happening again. He was killing again. Just like back then. He hadn’t changed at all. After four hundred years he was still the same cruel monster.
A murderer.
***
France, 1609
Amaury’s struggles to support his family would soon be over. He’d made a decision. The offer he’d received a week earlier was as good as any he would ever get. And for all he knew, the man who’d introduced himself only by his first name, Hervé, would pay for something Amaury wouldn’t even need to deliver. He only half believed the story anyway.